


The Joy Remains

by jooliewrites



Category: How to Get Away with Murder
Genre: Canon Compliant, Domestic Fluff, Episode: s01e15 It's All My Fault, Established Relationship, Friends to Lovers, HIV Positive Character, M/M, Minor Angst, Post-Season/Series 01 Finale
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-17
Updated: 2015-07-17
Packaged: 2018-04-09 20:58:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,289
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4363961
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jooliewrites/pseuds/jooliewrites
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“So,” Connor clears his throat, debating the words to use for this. He can barely think over the rushing of his ears and insane desire to grab on to the arm of Oliver’s jacket and never let go. “You’re saying you want to break up?”</p>
<p>“No. I’m saying I want to take a break.” Oliver picks at the cardboard sleeve on his coffee cup. “Not just a break from us – from whatever we are – I want to take a break from the whole thing. Dating, going out, just all of it. I need – I need to take a break.”</p>
<p>+</p>
<p>A Coliver post-finale, canon!verse, lovers-to-friends ficlet.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Joy Remains

**Author's Note:**

> Originally cross posted from Tumblr. Hope you enjoy!  
> -Jules xoxo

Oliver pulls away a bit diagnosis and explains to Connor that he needs time to think and process and get his balance back. Get back to normal, or his new normal at any rate. And Connor totally understands. He sits there and nods along, makes appropriate noises of sympathy and understanding, offers to tag along to meetings or appointments if Oliver needs. Just, on the whole, Connor is the picture of a supportive boyfriend. But then Oliver delivers the kicker. He doesn’t want a boyfriend. At least, not right now. Not with this. There’s too much right now with this.

* * *

 

“So,” Connor clears his throat, debating the words to use for this. He can barely think over the rushing of his ears and insane desire to grab on to the arm of Oliver’s jacket and never let go. “You’re saying you want to break up?”

Oliver wants to gently remind that _We aren’t even officially back together_ but holds it back. He doesn’t want to open up that Pandora’s Box right now. Instead he says, “No. I’m saying _I_ want to take a break.” Oliver picks at the cardboard sleeve on his coffee cup and wishes he hadn’t gulped it all down right away. He wishes for the distraction of it. “Not just a break from us – from whatever we are – I want to take a break from the _whole thing_. Dating, going out, just all of it. I need – I need to take a break.”

“Okay. Okay. That sounds good. Smart. That seems like – like a good thing to do.” Connor nods.

And then he just keeps nodding. He can’t stop nodding. Why can’t he stop nodding? Why can’t he think of anything to say? Oh god. The silence between them is stretching. It’s been too long since he last said something and he knows it’s still his turn in the conversation. Oliver’s done. He’s said his piece. Oliver’s said what he wanted to say and now Connor is just sitting across from him, nodding along like an idiot. Say something!

“Can-” Connor coughs to clear his throat and buy a millisecond of time. Now that he’s started, he curses himself for ever opening his mouth. “Can we – I mean – would it be okay if we – not like dating or anything but like being together – or not _being together_ but would it be okay if we kept – like Thorn Birds and dinner and hanging out and–”

Oliver smiles, small and low, as he watches Connor bumble over the words. The confident man with the slick smile is tripping over himself, unsure and unsteady, and Oliver tries not to find it adorable. Who would have ever thought a man like Connor could ever get flustered over a man like him? “Are you asking if we can still be friends?”

“Yeah.” Connor looks up then, grateful for the lifeline, and hopes against hope Oliver agrees.

He’s told Oliver a lot of lies over the past few months but that night weeks ago wasn’t one of them. Oliver is one of the only people he trusts right now. And, more than that, Oliver is one of the only people who seems to see him, not the mask or bullshit. Oliver sees him. Connor never realized before how addicting it is being seen and cared for. Being a part of something, one half of a whole.

“Yeah.” Oliver’s nodding now and Connor smiles back at him. “Yeah, I think we can be friends.”

And that’s what they become. Friends. Truly and simply.

It turns into the two of them staying in to watch terrible B-movies and marathon Parks & Rec on Netflix. Oliver cooks or Connor brings take out and an entire empty couch cushion sits between them. The first time they hang out after The Talk, Connor thinks of that cushion with a twinge of resentment as the Friendship Cushion. The second time, he turns sideways on the couch and puts his feet up on it; he grins when Oliver does the same. The third time, Connor doesn’t even notice the space between them. It isn’t an issue; it isn’t something he needs to be aware of because it’s just there. It’s part of them now and it’s okay.

Sometimes on these not dating-hangout nights, Connor spreads his schoolwork out on the coffee table and finds himself talking through Annalise’s cases out loud. Oliver pipes in pointing out irregularities and other things about alibis and witness statements that sound odd to him. Sometimes he offers to hack into something or dig into someone’s financials but 99% of the time, Connor refuses with a shake of his head.

If he were being honest, Connor never really liked that dynamic of their relationship. It was one thing at first, when they were both strangers sort of using each other, but over time it started to make him feel a little dirty about the whole thing. Sometimes he wouldn’t even share the dirt Oliver found with Annalise. He just burned the prints outs and evidence in his apartment sink and never told a soul. Eventually Oliver stops offering to hack into things and Connor never asks.

It also turns into them doing other friends-y things like Connor bullying Oliver into signing up for a 5k.

“It will be fun!”

“No it won’t I hate running.”

“But it’s for a good cause.”

“But I hate running.”

“But you get a free shirt!”

Eventually, Oliver gives in and they go training. The entire time Oliver complains about how running is the worst thing ever invented and why is he doing this again? “Because I asked and we’re friends, Oliver.” That is when Oliver decides that he needs new friends.

It’s also the two of them go to shopping together because Connor isn’t spending another moment listening to Oliver complain that “I have nothing to wear” and “All my clothes are terrible!”

Like a good ~~boy~~ friend, Connor waits outside the dressing room and demands Oliver come out and show him all the clothes he’s trying on. One of the shirts doesn’t fit right over Oliver’s shoulders so Connor goes out to grab a different size, stopping along the way to pick out a few other things for Oliver to try while he’s in there.

“What is this?” Oliver demands, opening the door and brandishing a patterned sweater.

Connor turns to see and forces himself to keep his eyes on Oliver’s face. Oliver isn’t wearing a shirt. He’s got a new pair of jeans on that look _good_ and no shirt but Connor isn’t noticing any of that because he’s not looking below Oliver’s neck. Friends don’t do that. Friends don’t look at the small of each other’s backs or think about lips trailing down spines. Friends don’t look at each other and _want_. His Friend Oliver asked him a question but, for the life of him, Connor can’t remember what it is so he asks him to repeat.

“What is this?” Oliver shakes the hanger and Connor grins.

“Just try it.”

“But it’s so…so busy.”

“Trust me. It will bring out your eyes.”

Oliver just gives him A Look and Connor knows he’s messed up. Friends don’t talk about each other’s eyes. Without saying a word, Oliver closes the dressing room door.

Later though, Connor spots the sweater mixed in with the other clothes Oliver’s purchasing and ignores the pleasant feeling in his stomach at seeing his sweater mixed in with all the others. As they walk out of the store, Connor wants to reach out and take Oliver’s hand in his but instead he just balls his fist up and shoves it in his pocket.

Later that week, Connor wants to reach out and take Oliver’s hand again as they walk into the community center. Oliver hesitates as soon as they’re through the door so Connor takes the lead and checks the map.

“Community Room B,” he says and nods down the hall. “This way.”

Their gait slows as they approach and the pull up short well before the door.

“You want me to-?” Connor gestures to the line of chairs against the wall outside.

“No,” Oliver quickly says. Then, slower, “Well – I mean – if you want you can but I wouldn’t mind if you-”

“No. It’s fine. I want to,” Connor reassures.

“Okay then.” Oliver blows out a breath. “Let’s get this over with.”

When the support group leader asks them to introduce themselves, Oliver does his own introduction with ease but his voice catches on Connor’s.

“I’m Connor,” Connor rushes in to cover. “I’m Oliver’s friend.”

He doesn’t hesitate over the word; there’s no resentment or bitterness behind it. It’s a plain and simple truth. He is Oliver’s friend.

As they walk out, Oliver reaches over to grab Connor’s hand and squeezes once. “Thank you,” he says, eyes cast down to the sidewalk.

Connor squeezes back and waits for Oliver’s eyes to lift and meet his. “What are friends for?”

Eventually, Oliver gets his balance back enough to brave bending to his other friends’ cajoling and go out for the night. He’s more than a little surprised at how hard it is to tell Connor.

“It’s just going to be small. Just a few of us, grabbing some drinks,” Oliver explains. Why can’t he look Connor in the eye? What is wrong with him? “You’re more than welcome, of course. But if you don’t want to come, I understand.”

Oliver forces himself to look up, expecting Connor to look bored or distracted or something but he’s not. He’s not any of those things. Connor is focused on him and the single mindedness of his gaze makes Oliver falter.

“It’s probably going to be really boring,” Oliver murmurs breathlessly. “You don’t have to come.”

“You sure you want to go?” Connor’s question is light but his gaze never wavers. Oliver looks away with a nod, not trusting himself. He sees too much in Connor’s eyes and doesn’t trust himself not to hope.

At the bar, Oliver can feel himself sweating. His hands shake and he looks away quickly whenever a guy catches his eye. This was a terrible idea. He’s not ready. Where are his friends? They said they weren’t going to leave his side and now they’re gone. How long does it take to get another round? Where is Connor?

Oliver pulls out his phone to check for a text again but there isn’t anything new since the last time he checked, 45 seconds ago. Connor’s last text simply reads _Traffic. Grrrr_ and Oliver tries not to be mad about Connor being late. It isn’t Connor’s fault that Oliver needs to get out of here.

Oliver glances over to spot two of his friends at the bar, flirting with the bartender. Oliver waits to get angry; he knows he should be angry with them but can’t seem to care enough. It isn’t their fault he’s feeling bitter and pissed off and lonely. Well, it is their fault for ditching him but they have every right to flirt and have fun. It isn’t their fault either for trying to remind him there is a life outside the four walls of his apartment. He just isn’t ready for all this yet.

He watches the trio at the bar laugh at something and decides to just text his friends to let them know he’s going home. He doesn’t want to wait for them to come back and have them feel obligated to leave with him or go through the whole thing of them trying to convince him to stay. He’s not in the mood for this and doesn’t want to ruin their night as well. He’ll call Connor once he’s outside; tell him thanks for trying but not to bother heading the rest of the way here.

Oliver feels a sting at the back of his throat and swallows the disappointment down. He really thought he was ready for this. He thought the support group and therapy had helped (and they had) but it turns out they hadn’t helped enough. Not yet anyway. Perhaps it was too much to jump into the deep end right away. Lesson learned.

He’s just pulling out his phone when Connor rushes in, full of apologies and stories of traffic and court and school. Oliver smiles at him, grateful and absurdly happy. He thinks about changing his mind about going home. Maybe it’s too early to call tonight a total failure. Connor’s here now and he can see his friends heading back over out of the corner of his eye. Maybe it will be okay.

Then Oliver catches the glance. It’s just a moment, half a moment really, when Connor glances to his left. It’s just an instant, just a quick look around the room to take in the crowd and music and atmosphere. It’s quick but long enough for Connor’s eyes lock with some guy over to the side.

Oliver sees desire and interest, hot and fast, pass between Connor and the stranger in the blink of an eye and he looks away. He knows that look. Hell, he’s been on the receiving end of that look right before Connor waltzed into his life with a Maker’s Manhattan and a grin. Just like it isn’t fair of him to hold his friends back, it also isn’t fair of him to hold Connor back.

Oliver looks away too quickly though and doesn’t see Connor’s quick shake of his head. He doesn’t see Connor turn his back on the guy and step a hair’s breadth closer to Oliver. He doesn’t notice Connor angling his head towards Oliver’s own. Oliver doesn’t notice how Connor’s hand trembles when he lifts it on the table, how he clearly wants to take Oliver’s hand in his but settles for resting their hands next to each other instead.

Oliver doesn’t notice any of this so he continues on with his Going Home plan and says to Connor, “I think I’m going to go.”

“What?” Connor asks, unable to really hear over the din of the bar.

When he steps even closer, Oliver tries to ignore how he can smell Connor’s aftershave. “I think I’m going to go,” he says, louder this time.

“No, Ollie! You can’t!” His friend whines out as the pair of them come back with drinks for them all. “We just got here. Come on. One more drink. Just stay.”

Oliver adopts on a fake smile and agrees to stay for one more drink. They all start talking about stupid things (work and celebrity gossip and crap like that) and Oliver tries not to notice all the guys making eyes at Connor. It makes his blood boil. It makes him seethe. It makes him embarrassingly sad.

Finally, his drink is done and obligation is met. He waves off his friends’ attempts to get him to stay for “Just one more!” but insists they stay and enjoy themselves as he heads out of the bar.

Connor goes to follow him out and Oliver stops short. “You should stay too, Connor. Stay and – and enjoy yourself.” Oliver gestures over to the left, where the guy from earlier is still looking over at them. “I don’t want you to—”

“Just walk, Oliver.”

Oliver’s startled at the bite in Connor’s tone. It’s angry and vicious and uncalled for. Oliver didn’t ask Connor to leave with him. Oliver doesn’t want Connor to leave with him. And if Connor didn’t want to come, he didn’t have to. He could have said no. He could have said court was too much or traffic was too bad or some other bullshit excuse and stayed home. Oliver would have understood.

All of this and more is on the tip of Oliver’s tongue when they get out of the bar but, before he can get a word out, Connor reaches down to take his hand.

“Is this alright?” Connor asks, a hard edge still in his voice but his grip on Oliver’s hand is light.

“It’s fine,” Oliver says, confused.

Connor pulls him along and into the alley next to the bar. There’s another couple further down, heavy and frantic against the wall, but Connor doesn’t acknowledge them at all. He grips Oliver’s hips and steps forward, pressing Oliver back against the wall.

“Is this alright?” The question is low and slow. The edge gone from Connor’s voice but there’s still a dangerous glint in his eye. It sends a warm lick up Oliver’s spine and he relaxes a bit, linking his arms around Connor’s shoulders to pull him in just a breath closer.

“It’s alright.” Oliver licks his lips and tilts his head back a little. “Connor, what—?”

“He wouldn’t stop looking at you.” Connor’s staring at Oliver’s lips and Oliver can almost feel the kiss, the memory of those lips pressed against his. He wants to lick his lips again, bite his lower lip, knot his fingers in Connor’s hair and pull his mouth in to taste.

“What?”

“He wouldn’t stop,” Connor repeats. “That asshole wouldn’t stop.”

Connor looks up then, his eyes with that dangerous glint lock on Oliver’s and it’s more than a lick of warmth up Oliver’s spine this time. It’s a punch of heat, low in his gut that spreads up his chest and neck until he can’t breathe for it.

“He wouldn’t stop looking at you,” Connor’s saying again and Oliver has to focus to hear. The pull of desire, spread of arousal, is so fast and unexpected after months of denying and avoiding that Oliver wants to close his eyes, tilt his head back and just revel, revel in the delicious feeling of wanting and being wanted in return.

“What’s the problem with that?” Oliver lightly teases, just to see and is rewarded when Connor presses him deeper against the wall. Connor’s thumbs gripping just a bit tighter and Oliver keens back in pleasure.

“He shouldn’t look at you like that,” Connor bites off. “No one should. You – you’re –” Connor licks his lips then and his eyes are questioning when he glances up. “Oliver?”

His name is a question and plea all in one and Oliver answers by pulling Connor’s mouth to his. The kiss is frantic. Oliver’s hands shake as they trail down Connor’s chest. Connor licks deep into Oliver’s mouth, his hands coming up to cradle Oliver’s jaw. Oliver breaks the kiss to mouth along Connor’s jaw but stops, just as abruptly as he started, on a broken sob.

It’s too much. Too much too fast, too quickly after too long.

The arousal that had been welcome moments ago now scares him down to the marrow of his bones, the blood in his veins. He's afraid he's going to be sick.

“I’m sorry,” Oliver whispers over and over again. Connor tucks Oliver’s head into the space between his neck and shoulder, wrapping one arm around Oliver’s waist to hold him close. Oliver’s hands fist in Connor’s dress shirt as he cries. “I’m sorry. It’s too – I didn’t mean – I didn’t know –” Connor just shushes him and rubs his thumb over the back of Oliver’s neck in soothing circles.

“I’m sorry,” Connor says, pressing a kiss into Oliver’s hair. “I’m so sorry.”

“No, it wasn’t you.” Oliver blows out a breath when he steps back. “I shouldn’t have—it was just—” Oliver blows out another breath to stop a second rush of tears. “Tonight was just a bad night. It wasn’t you.”

“I still shouldn’t have.” Connor looks away, ashamed, embarrassed. He spots the couple farther down and lets another wave of guilt settle, uneasily, in his stomach.

Connor had been so blind with rage and jealousy after watching some ass make eyes at Oliver all night he’d simply pulled Oliver into the nearest available space, never mind it was already occupied, and grouped him. Jesus Christ.

Connor drags a hand through his hair and yanks until it hurts; it’s no less than he deserves after all. “I’m so sorry, Oliver. I don’t know what I was thinking.”

Oliver reaches up, gently tugs Connor’s hand out of his hair and squeezes it once. “Let’s just go home.”

“Okay,” Connor agrees.

They walk hand-in-hand to Connor’s car and halfway through the drive back to 303, Oliver reaches across the way to take Connor’s hand back in his again.

The next week or so they give each other space. Connor studies after school at his own apartment and Oliver gets back in the habit of making dinner for one. They text occasionally, nothing like they had been, and both really think about what they want.

Ten days pass before Oliver texts asking if Connor wants to grab coffee.

At first, it’s awkward as hell, all small talk and half-formed sentences, until Oliver finally brings up the elephant in the room.

“About that night,” he begins.

“I’m sorry,” Connor interrupts. When Oliver just gives him a look, Connor simply shrugs. “Well, I am.”

“I am too. That—my reaction was—it was unexpected.” Oliver swallows down and, once again, wishes he hadn’t finished his coffee so fast. “But it did help me to figure some things out,” he continues hesitantly.

Connor says nothing and he remains unmoved, his eyes fixed on Oliver.

“Okay, well,” Oliver rushes on. He’s been rehearsing this and he just needs to say it. It all needs to get out as fast as he can. “It helped me figure out that, while I do value our friendship, I don’t think I want to be just friends with you.”

“Oh,” Connor says. Totally unhelpfully.

“Yeah,” Oliver glances down and wonders if he’s made the worst mistake, if he’s read this whole thing wrong. “Yeah. I just—I just miss you. I mean, don’t get me wrong, I enjoy us hanging out and dinner and movies and all of that. It’s just—I miss being able to touch you. Not like _that_ —well also like that—but I miss being able to hold your hand and sit next to each other on the couch and just—just be a couple. I miss us.”

Connor looks away, scratching a hand through his hair, and Oliver knows he’s made a mistake. He was pretty sure before but now he’s 100% sure all of this was a mistake. He’s opening his mouth to take it all back somehow when Connor says.

“Are you sure you’re ready?”

Oliver’s stunned. Of all the ways this played out in his head, Connor never responded with that. “What?”

“Are you sure you’re ready?” Connor asks again.

“I’ve been thinking too, Oliver. And I want to be sure you’re ready. I’ve fine with us being friends and going slow and whatever you want. But I don’t want a repeat of that night. I know I acted like an ass.” When Oliver tries to object, Connor just lifts a hand. “I did. I was jealous and irrational and out of line. And I’m sorry about that. Truly, I really am.” He looks up at Oliver then. “But I kissed you and you sobbed and, Oliver, I can’t—I don’t want to ever feel like that again. Make you feel like that again. I kissed you and then you cried and I felt like—like I violated you or did something against your will or _whatever_.”

Connor blows out a sigh and waits a beat before continuing. “Now, we can go as slow as you want and you can always stop and that’s fine—that’s better. I don’t want this to go faster than you’re ready for because I don’t want to lose you but also I don’t know if I can handle that feeling again, that feeling that I hurt you.”

Oliver lets that sink in. He mulls over all the emotion of that night, these past months, everyday since that cool February afternoon. Anger. Rage. Sadness. Melancholy. Jealously. Guilt. Desire. Despair.

“I’m not sure if I can promise that, Connor,” Oliver eventually says and Connor curses under his breath. “It’s all a lot, maybe too much. I can’t guarantee that something like that won’t happen again.”

“Well, Jesus,” Connor mumbles but Oliver’s quick to press on.

“But that brings up the other thing I wanted to talk about.” Instead of playing with the empty coffee cup, Oliver reaches over to take Connor’s hand in his. “If us getting back together again is something you wanted to do, I was thinking that we could maybe try talking with someone.”

“Like a therapist?” Connor asks, trying to hide the derision in his voice. He’s been to therapy before. He doesn’t like it, mostly because it helps (which he knows doesn’t make sense but still).

Oliver nods and squeezes Connor’s hand when Connor rolls his eyes. “It helps. And we’ve been to group before and that’s helped.”

“But group is different.”

“How?”

“Well, for starters it’s a _group_.”

Now it’s Oliver’s turn to roll his eyes. “Be serious.”

“I am.”

“Come on,” Oliver says, tugging Connor’s hand. “I’m a lot to take on now. Talking to someone will help.”

“You aren’t a lot to take on,” Connor says.

“Be serious,” Oliver jokes.

“I am.” Connor’s tone is firm and final and, with it, Oliver begins to hope again.

Connor looks down at their joined hands on the table, reflecting on how well Oliver’s hand fits in his, how Oliver fits with him. He lets out a long sigh. “I guess talking with someone is probably a smart idea.”

Oliver squeezes Connor’s hand again in his and his smile breaks, warm and wide. “It is. It will be. You’ll see.”

They kiss again. This kiss is light and gentle and, when they break apart, only the joy remains.

**Author's Note:**

> [tumblr](http://ramblesandreblogs.tumblr.com/)


End file.
